


Subterfuge

by karasunovolleygays



Series: Valentine's Kisses 2020 [2]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Aged Up, Friends to ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22088689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunovolleygays/pseuds/karasunovolleygays
Summary: All Atobe wanted to do was wheedle a secret out of Tezuka. He did, but not the one he expected.
Relationships: Atobe Keigo/Tezuka Kunimitsu
Series: Valentine's Kisses 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589239
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	Subterfuge

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Day 2 of my annual valekiss spam: A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss — requested by meeeeeee! Thank you to the eight people who might actually read this lol.

“No.” 

Tezuka’s reply was sharp, like everything else he did, but there was one person who never managed to get used to the sound of that word. In a world full of ‘Keigo-sama’ this and that, Atobe often found himself exhilarated by the way Tezuka seemed immune to him and his status.

But one way or another, Tezuka  _ would _ be teaching Atobe his prized zero shiki drop shot. 

They were far beyond competitive reasons for Tezuka to refuse. Their days as rivals were long past, a relic of their youths, instead replaced by tennis on Sundays and lunch together when they could manage it.

It was fine, though. Atobe wasn’t a quitter, and even Tezuka would crack under pressure eventually. After all, the only thing that could cut a diamond was another diamond.

So Atobe let it go for the moment, sipping at his coffee in a swanky little cafe that had sprung up near Tezuka’s office building. Over the gold (yes, gold) rims of his glasses, Atobe instead regarded Tezuka with his most piercing gaze. It was the one that had made underclassmen on the tennis team snap to attention without a word. 

Yet Tezuka picked the peanuts out of his stir fry like Atobe wasn’t even there. He had definitely won this round.

With a smattering of conversation, they parted ways soon after, and Atobe headed back to his own office with swirling thoughts. He wasn’t sure what made him ask Tezuka to show him the drop shot. Just as accomplished as his former rival, Atobe could have no doubt watched video of it until he learned all of its secrets. 

Perhaps that was what captivated Atobe so much, the thought of wresting a closely guarded secret from Tezuka’s tightly zipped lips.

The cycle continued, with nearly every conversation a springboard for Atobe’s request. “No,” became a chorus to his every verse, but even being denied managed to elicit a rush from Atobe.

Their next meeting was one of their usual Sunday matches at a public tennis court. Atobe had a court of his own at home, of course, but something about the hole riddled nets and well worn surfacing reminded him of the days when they were both young and infatuated with the idea of nationals glory.

On schedule, the two of them arrived — Atobe in a fitted tee and shorts that were slightly too short to be appropriate, Tezuka in his usual polo buttoned all the way up and middle aged dad shorts. Chortling, Atobe dropped his duffel bag and unbuttoned Tezuka’s collar. “You’re young and hot, Tezuka. You should at least pretend to know it.”

Here and there, Atobe could coax a rare spurt of emotion from Tezuka, and this was one of those instances. Pink flooded Tezuka’s cheeks, making Atobe forget for just a moment that his whatever-Tezuka-was-to-him was not in fact a seventy year old librarian in a thirty something man’s body.

The moment was quickly broken in favor of working up a good sweat, something Atobe did far too little while stagnating in his office sixty hours each week. Tezuka was still in ridiculously good shape, which had Atobe sweating first by far, but giving in to his stinging muscles and burning lungs wasn’t an option.

Out of three sets, Atobe managed to win the last one, which he suspected was because Tezuka’s elbow was bothering him enough to make the switch to right handed play.

Atobe watched silently while Tezuka flopped on the old weathered bench on the side of the court, fingers gently prodding his bad elbow, drawing a wince here and there when he poked too hard.

So much for asking about the drop shot again.

His quest relegated for a later time, Atobe instead opted to sit next to Tezuka and hold his ice cold water bottle up against irritated skin. It earned him a brief look of appreciation before the stony Tezuka mask went back up.

“You’re not going to ask me today?”

Surprised Tezuka knew what he was thinking but not about to admit it, Atobe pasted on a smile and caught Tezuka eyeing him intently. “Did you want me to?”

“No.” Tezuka’s gaze sank down to the pavement between his shoes, his mouth pulling into a bitter slash of disapproval. “I have my reasons.”

“Tell me.” 

“You don’t want to know.” Tezuka’s frown deepened. 

Atobe could  _ feel _ something simmering beneath the surface. It would take a root canal and then some to drag it out of Tezuka, but it captivated him far more than the secret to the drop shot ever would. “You don’t hide your feelings very well, you know.”

Tezuka flinched, eyes glued to the pavement now. “Nonsense.”

“Bullshit.” Both of them started at Atobe’s rare spout of profanity, but if ever a situation warranted a strong statement, it was this one. Atobe grabbed Tezuka’s chin, forcing him to look Atobe in the eye, and Tezuka let him. “Now talk.”

Tezuka’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he sighed. “I will never teach you my drop shot, no matter how many times you ask. I know what you’re trying to do, but it won’t work.”

“Why?” Atobe’s hand drifted up to rest on Tezuka’s cheek, thumb smoothing away the crow’s feet reaching out from the corner of his eye. “Other than you being insufferable, that is.”

That coaxed a chortle out of Tezuka, and a ghost of a smile lingered. “I am, aren’t I?”

Hand stilled, Atobe couldn’t look away from Tezuka. They had known each other for twenty years, but this was the first time he had ever encountered his old rival as unguarded.

“I wouldn’t teach the drop shot to anyone,” Tezuka murmured. Atobe’s breath bottled up in his lungs when Tezuka grasped his hand and pressed a barely-there kiss to his knuckles. “Especially not someone I care about.”

Oh.

Atobe rolled his eyes. “You could have just said that, you complete disaster.” He slid his hand around the nape of Tezuka’s neck and wrenched him close for searing kiss. 

Tezuka met him with equal enthusiasm, but none of it was enough. Growling in the back of his throat, Atobe swung a leg over Tezuka’s lap and clenched his knees against Tezuka’s thighs. In reply, Tezuka banded his arms around Atobe’s waist and crushed them together.

When they finally wrenched their mouths away, both of them were winded and it had nothing to do with playing three full sets of tennis. Their labored breaths mingled together, with Tezuka’s eyes closed and a light blush blooming on his cheeks.

Chuckling, Atobe draped his arms over Tezuka’s shoulders. “I just wanted to steal one of your secrets, but I like this one better.”

Tezuka quirked open a single eye and caught on to Atobe’s smirk, earning him a tired head shake. “You could have just said that.”

“What, and give away all of  _ my _ secrets?” Atobe wrinkled his nose and settled closer against Tezuka’s warm, defined chest. “You forget who I am, Tezuka. Ore-sama doesn’t give away secrets, he takes them.”

Raising a brow, Tezuka said, “Keigo.”

Atobe started at the sound of his given name on Tezuka’s lips. He didn’t remember if he had ever heard it before. “What?”

“Shut up.” 

The softly given command tugged at something in Atobe’s gut. With a grin, he replied, “Make me.”

As it turned out, there really was a way to keep Atobe quiet: keep his mouth otherwise occupied. It was a development he hoped Tezuka wouldn’t soon forget.


End file.
